Slow Dancing In a Burning Room
by HecateA
Summary: Remus has no idea why everybody else is okay with this newest development in he and Dora's relationship when he can barely breathe or decide how he's going to live with himself. Oneshot.


**Author's Note: **Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **The following characters belong to J.K. Rowling, and this story derives from her original works, storylines, and world. Please do not sue me, I can barely pay tuition.

**Warnings: **Internalized self-hatred, panic attack, parenthood anxieties

* * *

**Stacked with: **MC4A; Not Commonwealth; Shipping War; Hogwarts; Rays of Blades; Remains of War

**Individual Challenge(s): **Gryffindor MC; Hufflepuff MC; Summer Vacation; Seeds; Tissue Warning; Golden Times; Old Shoes; Themes & Things A (Regret); Themes & Things B (Guilt); True Colours; Rian-Russo Inversion; In a Flash

**Representation(s): **Metamorphmagus Tonks; werewolf Remus

**Bonus challenge(s):** Abandoned Ship; In the Trench; Surprise!; Second Verse (Middle Name) Chorus (Tomorrow's Shade)

**Tertiary bonus challenge: **NA

**Word Count: **755

* * *

_**Shipping Wars**_

**Ship (Team): **Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks

**List (Prompt): **Summer Big List (Dancing)

* * *

_**Hogwarts Submitting Info**_

**House: **Ravenclaw

**Assignment: **Assignment #1, Photography, Task #9: Write about someone who has 'black and white' thinking or 'splitting', which means thinking in extremes, either one extreme or the other, with no middle ground or 'grey' areas.

* * *

**Slow Dancing in a Burning Room **

The truce they had struck that morning had been holding up reasonably well. Remus thought they were even enjoying themselves at Bill and Fleur's wedding, up until a server offering flutes of champagne accosted them and Tonks turned him down and Remus remembered why she wasn't drinking…

Fear and nerves and anxiety and disbelief and frustration all bubbled up in him again, and he had no idea what to do with any of these feelings—much less all of them put together at once—when he remembered that the world was on fire. He had no idea how he could be the only one who could smell the smoke or hear the crackling of its flames. There was most likely a joke about the boy who cried wolf to be made, but Remus was too wrapped up in the moment to find it.

She seemed to sense the change in his mood because she let go of his hand and turned back to him, chewing on her lip. She looked lovely today; she'd curled her hair, had put on heels and her favourite black dress with the sparkles, had smiled since morning… He wasn't being fair to her. Then again, this wasn't fair. Not fair to her, not fair to the…

This entire situation was a nightmare—one of his worst nightmares, to be clear. He felt like he was sinking into quicksand, like he'd forgotten how to breathe, or like the air was being stolen from his lungs as soon as it got in. And he didn't know how to tell her that. He didn't know how anybody could understand…

"Look," she said quietly. "I know we have a lot to talk about. I know this is unexpected and unplanned and… and gosh, maybe unwanted."

She blinked, as if she couldn't quite believe that. Remus felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach.

"And we'll deal with that. We'll work through that, we'll… talk. But for now, let's just be silly and happy at this wedding," Dora said.

Remus didn't know how she could say that, how she could suggest that the world stop spinning for a second… How could she act as if this was something they could put a pin in? Remus was drowning and he wouldn't be able to hold his breath much longer.

"I'm not the type, but it's a nice wedding, as far as weddings go," Dora said again, looking up at him expectantly. She expected so much from him, how could he tell her just how little he had to give? How much he could _take _just by being around her too, by having a tiny part of himself in another being's blood—like how someone was taking up all the oxygen in this room…

"That sounds fair," Remus said, swallowing hard. The word 'fair' felt hard to say given what was ahead of her and this child and… he couldn't even finish the thought without dissolving into anxiety again.

He kissed the top of her head, his heart beating painfully slow in his throat, and then offered her his arm. "May I have this dance?"

She smiled, satisfied, and he led her onto the dance floor. She rested her head on his chest, and he had no idea how she could stand to be near him after what he'd done, he had no idea how she didn't shrivel away from the hand he rested on her hip, he had no idea how she wasn't panicking. The look on her face was so soft as she closed her eyes and listened to the song playing —a good song, admittedly, on any other day— made it abundantly clear that she _wasn't _internalizing panic like he was.

She was humming the song against his chest as they danced, slowly and surely.

He didn't know how she did it, how she was still breathing and how the world hadn't turned upside down under her feet. They hadn't been supposed to have children. _He _wasn't supposed to have children. He couldn't—he couldn't do to someone else what had been done to him, not like this, not in any way. And with the war coming to a peak, with her father in such danger, with Dumbledore dead, with the state of things—even if he weren't what he was, now wouldn't be the time to bring a…

This dance. He reminded himself of this dance. He had promised her this.

And so Remus held his peace and pretended that he wasn't slow dancing in a burning room.


End file.
